The Ancient Songs
by golddoesnotglitter
Summary: Solas never thought he would meet someone as young and fiery as the Dalish elf, Maharyn. Solas has lived a long time, and he has many sorrows. He is not sure if he wants to give himself the new sorrow of losing her. Adult content and spoilers.


*I want to mention briefly (SPOILERS, for you people who read fanfiction before finishing the game!) that this story is working on my theory that Solas is an ancient Arlathan elf that woke up from uthenara some time before the beginning of the game. I think that time and Dalish superstition has figuratively turned him into one of the gods, The Dread Wolf, but he was actually a noble elf centuries ago that rebelled against the gods. I can't wait to figure out the real story of Solas.

*Also, this story does not end on a cliffhanger, so it can stand alone. However, if I have time, I have plans for this story. Just wanted to let you know that there may be more, but it can stand as a ficlet.

*There is a lot of fluff, angst, and sex. I hope you like my depiction of the Inquisitor and the silly egghead.

Chapter One: The Fire

Solas watched the Dalish elf from the shadows of a tall oak. She was in a grassy clearing next to a stream, going through a flurry of magic spells, her face full of power and unrestrained joy. It was distracting, to say the least. Her white hair, cut messily and short, was tossed around her head in the wake of the energy she was emitting. White hair and gray eyes, like the ones she had, were usually indicative of great magical power, as if the connection to the Fade had leached color from everything.

The others were back at camp, waiting for the meal. They were in the Emerald Graves, an old place of history and magic. Solas felt the whispers of the ancient elves on his skin, like a breeze, and he sensed the firm life of the giant trees, filled with wisdom and force. He assumed this was why the Inquisitor was so gleeful. She was in the lost land of her people, where they slept peacefully.

It was a dance. That was what Solas believed he was seeing, an elf drunk on magic and life, spinning and leaping, lightning crackling slightly at her fingertips, force rushing out from her form, fire in her eyes. He had never seen something so beautiful. He leaned lightly against the tree behind him, clasping his hands in front of him. The usual, sharp angle of his brow, brought down into a deep V, was lifted in awe and possibly vulnerability.

Her bare feet splashed down into the water, droplets flying upwards and sparkling in the light, suspended in unnatural slowness by the invisible power that was emanating from her. She laughed. Anyone else looking upon this private spectacle might think she was crazy, especially if they weren't a mage, but Solas knew how she felt. Once, long ago, he had felt young and powerful and happy, too.

She stilled for a moment, her back to him. Her hands caressed the surface of the water, and she watched the sun sparkling in the rippling current. The river was up to her knees, and it was dark with depth near the middle. She lifted her slender hands and played with something at her neck. Solas was slow to realize what she was doing until she was pulling the under tunic off of her shoulders.

He was frozen for a long moment, as the cloth fell down her back and she tossed it to the shore. It landed haphazardly on a boulder. He stared in slightly embarrassed arousal as she pulled her pants down, revealing a firm backside and lithe legs. He turned away, surprised at the amount of lust he felt for this Dalish elf. He needed to leave. He couldn't-

"Care to join, Solas?" That soft lilting tone she used on him, provocative and warm, made him pause. The Inquisitor always caught him off guard. She was the first to do so in a long time, and when he was around her, he felt like he was on unsteady ground.

"I am sorry to have disturbed you," he finally said without turning around, slightly breathless.

"Was there something you wanted?"

"No, I was merely walking, and you came . . ." he said. "Forgive me."

He had to force his feet to move. Maharyn stood, naked and smiling to herself.

"I would like it if you joined me, Solas," she said. Her voice was casual, but it carried to him as if she had spoken in his ear. He stopped, but did not turn. "It's the least you can do after spying on me." She was teasing.

The only sound was the gentle rush of the wide, rocky stream. He imagined the water caressing her long legs, glistening, clear, throwing fractured rainbows across her pale skin. A breeze rustled the broad canopies overhead. Neither spoke. He wanted to protest her accusation, but he couldn't find the words to.

"I can't stop thinking about you. And your lips," Maharyn finally said as a last effort to get him to turn back. "I know you said you needed to consider things, but . . . Gods, Solas, I'm naked! Please!"

The amusing desperation in her voice was what undid him. Her joking voice, paired with her obvious desire, was too much. She promised too much for him to refuse her.

He turned and was filled with longing at the sight of her standing in the stream, bare skin shining in the sunlight, smiling brightly at him. As he stepped away from the oak tree towards her, he hesitantly unlaced his green vest and then unslung the staff from his back. He set the staff down and folded the vest on top of it, keeping his eyes off of her deliberately so he could think momentarily. Was this the wisest course of action? Or would this lead to things that would have best been left alone?

But she was . . . a rare thing. A leader, warrior, and scholar, with strong principles and an even stronger will. She was kind, but also fierce. And amusing. And beautiful, in her own way. And he could not stop thinking about her.

When he turned to face her again, she was laying in the water, her stomach on the rocky bottom near the shore, chin propped on one hand, watching him. Her legs were bent upwards casually, and her bare bottom shone wetly in the sun. Solas was still hesitant, but a little less so now. He felt mostly desire. Their eyes met.

He was suddenly shedding his clothes more quickly. Maharyn watched him calmly as he folded his pants and shirt over his tunic, and turned to face her. She smiled as her eyes grazed downwards, across the flat, healthy planes of his chest, across his hairless stomach and down to his cock, which was half-erect with want.

She actually licked her lips. Solas almost stumbled as he moved towards her, but she suddenly shimmied backwards into deeper water, eyes meeting his again. She was grinning teasingly. His feet touched the sun-warmed water as she swam backwards now with languid strokes of her arms. The pool of water was at her chest, and her small breasts were floating slightly in the water, nipples hard from the slight chill.

He felt . . . like a child again, an elf only a few decades old, filled with desire that made his heart beat ragged in his chest. The feeling was surprising and heady. He had to touch Maharyn, at least once, to sate this hunger in his chest for her. It had been so long that he had thought he had grown too old to know desire. He was wrong.

The water was cool, but not enough to be uncomfortable. He waded in, following her into the deep river. When he finally reached her, the water was at his lower chest. She was not running away any more. She was getting closer, her gray eyes hooded as she stared at him.

Her hands started at his belly, light touches of the tips of her fingernails. Slowly, they traveled upwards, slender fingers appearing from the water, droplets of water shining on her pale skin. Her fingers grazed his nipples, and higher, up the column of his neck, over his quickened pulse. He was fighting to keep his hands down, to gain control of himself. Her hands cupped his face gently, and she smiled at him, teasing and lustful.

Her lips were suddenly on his, fierce and hungry. He kissed her back, wrapping his arms around her torso, pressing her naked body closer, her small breasts soft against his chest. Her lips were warm and insistent, and her tongue danced occasionally across his lips, darting between his, pressing against his own eager tongue, and away.

There was no warning. One hand left his face as the other wrapped around to the back of his neck. Her free hand shot down into the water and grabbed his semi-erect cock, shrunken slightly by the cool water. He groaned, his mouth stilling and his eyes opening and searching her face for her expression. She leaned her head back slightly, smiling at him as she began to glide her hand along his length.

Then her hand was gone, and she was backing up again. He wanted to grab her and pull her back to him, but he stilled himself, his flushed face watching her with false calm and curiosity.

"Come on, Solas. Don't just stand there," she said breathlessly, turning away from him and walking to the shore, picking her way over the rocky bottom of the stream. She stepped onto the grassy bank and walked over to a patch of sunlight, then turned to face him again.

He followed, body and mind yearning for her. She waited for him, standing casually with grass between her toes, the sun making her skin golden.

She reached for him as soon as he was close enough, her eyes young and hungry and fierce, but he grabbed her hand and stilled it. His eyes watched her confused expression as he lifted her hand slowly in front of his face. Then he turned his gaze on her slender fingers, still wet from the river. They were calloused from years of braiding rope, helping fix aravels, carrying firewood, and having her staff slide in her hand as she learned to embrace her magic. He held her wrist with one hand while he traced the wrinkles in her palm. She watched him with lust, confusion, and slight impatience.

He leant his head down and gently kissed her palm. His eyes flickered up to hers. He wanted to savor her, and this one moment he would allow himself. This one reprieve that she was giving him was priceless. He kissed her wrist, fingers gently crossing over the veins in her forearm. Her body seemed tense, wired tight like a predator about to leap, and her lips were slightly parted as she watched him touch her like she was a flower.

"You're beautiful," he whispered against her skin.

She surprised him by making an impatient sound in her throat. She pulled her hand from his and wrapped her arms around his torso, crushing him against her. She kissed his throat roughly, then said huskily in his ear, "You're going to have to move faster than that, Solas."

Her mouth found his again, hungrily moving against him. The speed and lust at which she moved left him trailing behind her in a daze, letting her lead them how she wished. She urged him to the ground and he lay back willingly on the cool grass. Her soft body moved on top of him, and they twined together like vines. Their eyes met as they kissed, hers burning and his calmly in wonder.

One of her hands reached down and grabbed him again. This time she did not pull away quickly, and she pumped him firmly, causing him to shut his eyes tight and part his lips in pleasure. As she slid her hand on him, her other arm was next to his head, propping her up as she said in his ear, "What do you like?"

His eyes opened again, and he turned his head to look at her, slightly out of breath. He was surprised she had asked. "I want to explore you," he replied, lifting a hand to cup her cheek while his other arm was wrapped around her back. "Let me give you pleasure, ma vhenan."

She chuckled. "Vhenan, already? I thought I would have to fuck you senseless first."

"No, you are . . . more than this." Her hand had never stopped, and he was finding it hard to speak. "To me. 'Fucking' was not necessary."

"It was to me. I was going to be driven insane."

It was his turn to laugh, and it took a great amount of willpower to roll her over onto her back. Her hand slipped away from his hard member. She grinned up at him as he put his hands next to her head so he could lean back and look at her flushed face. "Please, Solas. You're moving like an old man."

He laughed shortly in shocked amusement, not missing the irony. He leaned down and placed a kiss against her shoulder. "Felas, ma vhenan." _Slow_.

She groaned as he placed another kiss to her neck. "Well, when you say it like that."

He did not reply. Instead he trailed kisses across her breast bone. He put his weight on one forearm as his other hand trailed downwards softly, palm gently brushing over her hard, pebbled, left nipple. She moaned softly, lifting one hand to the back of his neck, fingertips brushing the shell of his sharply pointed ear. Her other hand moved along the curve of his hipbone, and up to squeeze his buttock. His mouth moved to her small breast in response, sucking her nipple into his mouth softly.

She arched her body up to his, his hard member rubbing between her thigh and his lower torso. His tongue lathed over her sensitive peak, then moved to the opposite breast. The hand on the back of his neck pressed him closer to her, and her legs bent upwards and parted, effectively sliding him between them. Her thighs were pressed against his hips, and his member was pressed against her wet and hot sex. The sensation was heady.

Instead of giving them what they obviously wanted however, he decided to lengthen the love-making. He crawled down her body, leaving her breasts. His mouth brushed across her abdomen, and his tongue dipped into her navel. He settled onto his stomach, nestled between her legs. She sighed and wiggled her hips impatiently. He looked up at her face, a slight sheen on her forehead. He smiled slightly, hands moving up to cup the back of her thighs, and he looked down at the junction between her legs.

The white curls between her thighs were spread open, and the petals of a pink rose were opened for him, shining with dew. He doubted the fierce woman would like the comparison, but he knew some things about her were delicate.

His mouth found her gently, and she groaned deeply, rolling her hips slightly. His tongue firmly pressed against her hot flesh, and flicked back and forth repetitively. Her hands grabbed his head, pressing him harder against her. One hand caressed across her skin, and his fingers slid over her wet folds, and delved deeper. He pressed inwards slightly, skimming over the sensitive skin of her entrance.

He looked up at her face, and saw that her head was arched back, mouth open and panting.

"May I go in?" he asked softly against her.

"If you like," she breathed. "But . . . don't stop . . . with that mouth of yours."

He pressed one finger gently in, and she jerked her hips toward him, sliding his finger in all the way with no more preamble. He chuckled against her, and continued to tongue her while gently fucking her with his finger.

"Faster," she said in frustration, rolling her body harder against his mouth. He obeyed, and her back arched with pleasure, her pale body glowing in the sun. She removed one hand from his head and grabbed her breast, fingering her nipple roughly. He tried to match her speed, flicking his tongue in time with her desperate, rough hand. Her mouth gaped open as she let out a short choked moan. Her eyes popped open in ecstasy and her body tensed and jerked tightly like a coil of magic unleashing.

Finally she collapsed against the grass, limp. He smiled slightly and kissed the mound of hair before moving up once more so that their faces were level with one another.

"You know what to do now, don't you?" she asked teasingly, grinning up at him. Her eyes flicked down briefly to his wet, red mouth before she pulled his head down to her, kissing him hard and long.

"I am clueless," he replied dryly against her lips. Her hand reached down between them and grabbed his half-erect member. She caressed him eagerly.

"Are you sure? We can stop."

He groaned and thrust his hips gently against her. The tip of his cock slid through her fist and pressed against her warm sex.

"I may have remembered."

She pumped her fist against him, and as she worked, he pressed his mouth to hers again. His breath grew heavy and their lips clashed roughly, eagerly.

"Remember _faster_," she said suddenly, wrapping her legs around his waist tightly and pressing against him. He could not deny her any longer, and she touched him with only the tips of her fingers, guiding him into her hot entrance.

They rocked together. Solas had not felt so hopelessly out of control in years. His feelings were turbulent, and his body was on fire as he thrust in and out of this wild Dalish elf who smelled of earth and lightning. He did not want to look away from her flushed face, and her occasionally tightly shut or wide open, storm-cloud eyes. It was only a minute or so before she was throwing him over the brink with her fierce movements and beauty.

Afterwards, they lay together, side by side, hands laying loosely over one another. They stared up at the blue sky, and felt the wind on their hot flesh.

He knew that this would not be the last time. This could not be over for him yet.

Solas lay awake in the still hours of the morning. The room was chilly, despite every window being closed, and that in itself was unusual, considering the elven woman lying next to him had a habit of leaving her windows open. She had told him she liked the wind and the cold. It reminded her of the forests and plains, and of her travels. She did not like staying in Skyhold for long, and he could not blame her.

The Dalish Inquisitor lay naked and curled against him, her flesh warm against his. She was a small, yet strong being of only 30 years.

30 years.

He propped himself up on one arm, leaving the other arm hooked over her ribcage, just beneath her small breasts. Her short pale hair, almost white, was fanned across the red cloth of the pillow. He stared down at her slumbering face, the vallaslin etched on her skin in faded black ink, honoring the god, Sylaise. She was only slightly like the Hearthkeeper, with her love of magic, and her affinity for the virtue of compassion. But she also had many aspects of Sylaise's sister, Andruil, the Huntress: Wild, passionate of nature, and indomitable. She also had an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, and in that respect she resembled Dirthamen. The Dalish picked the markings of the god that they believed the elf most resembled, but they had gotten so many things wrong with Maharyn. She was all of these things, and yet, she was not like any of the Pantheon. She was simply Maharyn, and to Solas, she was greater and more . . . desirable than any of those arrogant gods.

And she was only 30 years old. Those ancient spirits had come through millennia, through spaces and times undreamed of, and yet she was greater. The strangeness and irony did not escape him. He, himself, had lived a long time, and he had never found someone so distracting. She cared strongly, fought fiercely and believed unconditionally in freedom and the pursuit of knowledge. Her ideals were sometimes foolish, yet beautiful. And she adhered to them, but not so much to where she could not change them if logic demanded her to.

Surely no immortal could be this way. She was a fire, bright, hot, destructive, giving warmth . . . . And she would burn out. Perhaps that was what gave her the glow, the ferocity, the passion: The fact that she only had a little time to do whatever she wanted to do. She did not have a millennia, or even a century. She had a few decades. Nothing more.

His throat tightened, and he looked away, up and out through the window. He had to leave, as soon as this was over, as soon as he could accomplish what he had set out to do. This was only pain. Every time he had a moment to think, whenever she wasn't distracting him with her wit, force, and charm, he was caught in crushing sorrow. She would be dead in the blink of an eye. And he would continue on.

Suddenly she shifted against him, her hips rolling backwards as she stretched languidly. Her warm flesh rubbed across him, lighting a fire in his body instantly. He had not become accustomed to the affect she had on his body. It was always sudden and uncontrollable. His eyes glanced back at her face, but she still appeared asleep. Her stretch, however, had pushed the blanket back, revealing her pale breasts.

He eased back against the bed, not wanting to disturb her sleep any more than he already had. He stared at her bared shoulder for a moment, his arm curled beneath his head then pulled up the blanket again to ward her from the chill. As he settled down to enter the Fade once more, her hips rolled again, much more deliberately this time, sliding his semi-erect member against the cleft of her ass.

His lips twitched in a smile as he whispered, "Seductress."

Her soft chuckle fills the room with warmth, and he is suddenly no longer cold. His hand gently caresses the skin beneath her breast. Her hips move again and she reaches back, putting her hand on his lower back to press herself against him harder. Leaning forward, he presses his lips to the soft shell of her pointed ear, calmly aroused outwardly, but his mind is almost blank with lust.

He reaches down lazily, his fingertips grazing her stomach. His hand slides between her legs, across the pale, curly hair, to press firmly against the hot mound of nerves hidden there. She gasps, a big smile curving her open mouth as she turns her head and captures his lips with her own. She is breathless as she kisses him with her open mouth, her tongue twining roughly with his. She is fire, and he is ice. She is fast and rough and passionate and he is slow and gentle and aloof. Yet somehow they meet in the middle every time.

He rubs gentle circles against her clit as she rolls her hips back on him eagerly, impatiently, gaining more force from her hand that is now curling nails into his back. Their mouths clash wetly, and without grace. He reaches beneath her awkwardly to roll her nipple between his fingertips.

She turns suddenly, throwing their tentative equilibrium off balance. He rolls onto his back willingly, his hand sliding away from her warm sex, his lips damp and swollen from her moist mouth. His member is hard, standing up into the cold air, and she gracefully climbs on top of him, straddling his waist. Once, their love-making had been slower, with more hesitation and nervousness as they got to know each other's bodies. He would still have it that way, and sometimes it was, but Maharyn was fierce, and so her love was fierce. She was the one that wielded control in bed, too impatient and lustful and young to wait for him. He was passive to her wishes.

She grabbed his cock to guide him, and pushed down without any more forethought. She was smiling at him, trying to catch her breath, and that alone could have been enough to undo him. She put her hands on his chest, rolling her hips against him, his member sliding in and out of her hot wetness with each deft movement. He rested his hands on her thighs, gripping them softly as she rode him.

She had her head down, staring at the junction between them, but she suddenly lifted her head, and her eyes met his. They were as gray as a storm cloud, bright and alive, and there was so much in them, so much happiness and love and power and life. But all of those things are snuffed out easily, like guttering candle flames in the wind from an open window. Her whole being was filled with wonderful things that are meant to die.

He reached up and pulled her head down to his. He kissed her tenderly, and he felt her smile against his mouth, continuing to crash her body against his, but now slower. A sheen of cold sweat was on his forehead. Her breasts were pressed against his chest, nipples rubbing against his skin from their momentum. He arched upwards into her, needing to be closer, but knowing he could never be close enough.

He sat up, his arms wrapped around her tightly, with him still inside of her body. She inhaled heavily through her nose, their mouths never parting. She undulated her hips against him, flesh roughly grazing flesh. Her arms curled around his shoulders tightly, her nails scratching at his back.

There wasn't enough air. Maharyn pulled away and bowed her head against his neck. Her breath was on his ear, hot, erratic, and he moaned softly against her shoulder, lips brushing softly against her warm skin. It was too much. There was too much feeling in this act with her, too much heat and life. And always, in the back of his mind, he felt the transience of _her_.

He pressed his open mouth against her as he came, white lights dancing behind his eyelids. He breathed hard against her as she rode to her completion, and with the little willpower he had, he reached between them and rubbed her clit firmly with his thumb. His little bit of his cum seeped out around his cock as she continued to move, making soft, wet sounds between them. She was only moments behind him. She leaned back from him and cried out as she found her orgasm, her hands clenched on his shoulders.

He collapsed back down, his flaccid member slipping from her hot body. She tried to roll off of him, but he held her tight to his body, and she settled against him, her head on his chest.

"Aneth ara," he murmured, hands resting gently on her bare back. It was a phrase commonly used for a greeting, meaning "my safe place," but the way he said it was much more than a greeting.

She firmly pressed her lips against his breast bone, then whispered, "Dareth Bellanaris." _Be safe eternally._

He felt his throat tighten once more at the play on his words. She meant so much to him, and if he could, he would stay by her side forever. Her fire could warm him for eternity, he was certain.

But she was a dying thing. She would eventually become a memory whispered in his Fade dreams, a ghostly touch on his shoulder, a will forgotten by time's slow erasure. Why had he done this to himself? He had willingly given himself another sorrow to add to his endless count of sorrows.

He glanced down at her. She was staring out the window, her gray eyes hooded and content from the sex they had just shared. She suddenly lifted her hand lazily. The latch unsnapped and the door flew open. A cold mountain wind rushed inside the room, instantly bringing goose bumps to her flesh. She did not reach for her blanket, but merely stared at the achingly blue sky, smiling to herself.

"Why do you smile, vhenan?" he asked, tilting his head sideways to see her face better. "Surely you are not finding amusement in how you are slowly freezing me to death."

She looked up at him without lifting her head from his chest, her smile curved like a bow. "No, I'm thinking about how Sera said when you climax, you cry 'elven glory!'"

That was possibly the last thing Solas had expected Maharyn to say. Here he was, being 'grim and fatalistic,' and she was thinking of _that_. He was so surprised by her answer that he covered his face with his arm as he shook with laughter. She laughed with him.

Finally he looked back down at her. She was licking her lips and smiling at him.

"Highly accurate," he said in a serious tone. "That's exactly what I was thinking just now." His lips twitched into a small smile. "'Elven glory,'" he said more softly, running his hand gently through the soft strands of her hair. He chuckled again.

Maharyn kissed his chest again, eyes glittering. "That's more like it."

He tilted his head in curiosity. "What do you mean?"

"I could tell you were thinking sad things," she replied, lifting her head to look at him. "But I love your laugh. And I hear it far too little."

He stared at her for a long moment, speechless and filled with love. Finally he put a hand on her head and pulled her to him in a warm embrace. "I will attempt to laugh more for you then, vhenan." Her hair was pressed softly against the side of his face, and her head was turned away. The soft, white-blond wisps of her hair smelled like herbal soap and there was a slight whiff of magic fire, like burnt grass, or lightning-struck ground. Tears stung his eyes for a brief moment, but he forced them away.

Why had he done this to himself?

Solas followed her from the camp to a grassy gap between the trees. She had pulled off her thick leather mage armor and breastplate, and now wore a loose cotton shirt under a brown vest and thick-weaved, brown pants. Her calloused, slender feet were bare on the earthy floor of the forest.

Maharyn turned to him, a grin on her face. She was excited to try out the new spell that she had been inspired to create while reading her magic lore book just a few minutes before. The text had mentioned Templars shields and a mage's protective spells on the same page, and she had the urge to try blocking close quarter blasts with a brief, strong ward.

She was several feet away from him, legs spread wide in a defensive stance, one hand slightly lifted from her side while the other was held in front of her.

"Go ahead, Solas." That gleam in her eye was fierce and confidant.

"Shouldn't you try out this new spell of yours before I hit you with ice?"

She scoffed and shifted impatiently from side to side on the balls of her feet. "It's similar to a barrier, just not a long-lasting one. It will be a blast of force to counter your attack, nothing more."

"But that is different from a barrier, vhenan. It is not meant to hold steady, but to push back. It might be just different enough to not work properly when you try the first time."

The Dalish elf smiled at him fondly. "You worry too much." She glanced past him to see Sera and Iron Bull were watching now from where they sat around the fire. "Sera will fire an arrow at me if you don't want to, Solas."

"That sounds fun!" Sera agreed cheerfully, but did not move to stand up.

Solas exhaled heavily. "Fine. Prepare yourself. But I won't tend you if you get a frozen nose."

Maharyn laughed and crouched low again, building up magical energy inside her. It tingled in her arms and concentrated itself in her hands.

"Ready. . ." he said, making sure she had a slight warning before he fired. "Now!" He tossed his hand out like he was skipping a rock over water, and a small ice ball formed in his hand and hurtled towards the Dalish elf. Her eyes were startlingly bright, and her mouth was casually relaxed instead of smiling, which meant utmost concentration on her part. He was unsure if she would block it properly, but a rippling surface of silver magic shot from her hand as she quickly pushed her arm towards him. The magic expanded and rushed outward to meet his blast. The ice dissolved against the magic shield. Solas was pushed back a step from the force of her magic, and the leaves and grass were tossed about in the wake of the spell. A few leaves broke loose from their limbs and flew past Iron Bull and Sera.

"Shit," Iron Bull mumbled from his place by the fire. Sera laughed nervously, rubbing the goose bumps on her arms.

Maharyn smiled brightly at the surprised Solas. "You always doubt me."

In truth, he did, but it was only because he had never met so young a mortal with such power. He forgot sometimes that she was a rarity in terms of magical prowess. Her skill was shocking to him, and he would never get accustomed to the thrill of seeing her do something amazing. In some respects, she was more powerful than he.

_But hot, bright fires die out the soonest._

He shook that thought away. There was no point in thinking it.

"Do it again," she said excitedly. "Except with your staff, so there's more power. No, Sera, shoot!"

Solas frowned softly. "Do you think that's wise, vhenan?" he asked, brows furrowed slightly over his narrowed eyes.

She snorted and called to Sera, "Grab our staffs, too! Both of you are going to fire at once in a minute."

"I'm not into threesomes with elfy elves," Sera said calmly as she reached down to grab her bow from the ground.

Iron Bull laughed heartily at the prospect as Solas fretted to himself about the danger Maharyn was putting herself in.

"You always know how to have fun, Boss."

Afterwards, they ate what one of the soldiers had cooked. It was an adventurer's lean stew with dry biscuits as a side. They ate together around the fire, companionably conversing. Solas finished his meal first and retreated to the tent, as he often did. Maharyn soon followed.

He was already laying on his side beneath the warm furs, an arm curled beneath his head. He watched as she took the hilt of her magical knight-enchanter sword from a pocket in her vest and she placed it next to her pillow, which served also as a sack to hold her extra change of clothes.

When she had chosen to spend most of her time training as a knight-enchanter instead of learning the things he could have helped teach her, he had been disappointed. But one day while lying in bed and shirking their duties, she had explained her choice to him when he had questioned her. _If I must be here, doing this thing we are doing, I want to be in the front, taking the first blows, getting in as much danger as Cassandra and them do._ She had turned over and stared up at the ceiling, their flesh too hot after making love to stay pressed against one another. _I also have read of Arcane Warriors originating in old elvhen traditions. . . . Elves shining in finely crafted armor, proud, protecting everything we once had. . . . You know how I feel about the lost things. _She had rolled her head and smiled at him then. _I also am looking to the future, Solas. When, maybe, we can travel. Just you and I. Seeing new places. I want to protect you. I want us to be enough._ He had not been disappointed in her choice after that, only sad and respectful.

He would always have memories such as that. Memories that left him aching in the middle of the night while he lay alone and cold, just before he entered the Fade in sleep. Even there, his experience of the Fade would probably be wrapped around his memories of her. He would never escape.

She stripped out of her clothes as he watched with gently hungry eyes. Then she crawled quickly beneath the furs, but held off from touching him. She lay on her side facing him, their faces only inches apart, and her gray eyes watched him calmly. His eyes flickered to her mouth, and farther, to the graceful curve of her neck. He wanted to kiss her. He held back.

They stared at each other for a long moment, and he was curious why she was being so thoughtful and aloof. Finally she said, "Solas."

That was all, but her voice was husky and low and agonizing. He watched her silently, his hand moving slightly between them, creeping towards her. She reached out with her hand and twined her fingers through his.

"What, vhenan?" he asked quietly, but she did not reply immediately.

Instead, she moved her long leg against his, her toes sliding gently along the top of his foot. Then she gently glided her leg between his. The soft, pale hairs on her leg tickled his hairless skin and he exhaled, just realizing he had been holding his breath. That was something he had noticed in the modern elves: They had slightly more hair than the ancient elves, for reasons unknown to him. It was another change, just like the lack of prolonged life and the loss of uthenara.

Slowly her leg slid upwards, parting his, until the top of her thigh, just above her knee, was pressed against the bottom of his aroused sex. He sighed and arched toward her, blue eyes never leaving her storm clouds, but she stopped him by removing her fingers from his and pressing her palm against his chest.

"Felas," she murmured, eyes dancing with amusement while her mouth twitched with the effort of not smiling. _Slow. _She was playing on the first time they had made love. She was never predictable.

He almost groaned as she began to gently rub her thigh against him, just barely grazing his sensitive, hot flesh. He put his foot flat on the fur beneath them and bent his leg upwards to give her more room. Her hand was still pressed flat against his chest, holding him back, and he began to breathe heavier, his eyes never leaving hers no matter how much he wanted to close his eyes in pained ecstasy. This was the game she wanted to play, so he would play it.

She nestled her head in the crook of her arm, looking comfortable and casual, besides the fact that her leg and hips were rocking with the effort of teasing him.

Solas reached out belligerently and grabbed one breast while her hand was occupied with holding him back. She smiled at him as his thumb grazed over her nipple, neither encouraging nor disapproving. Her leg pressed harder against him, but moved even slower.

He knew how to tease her and ruin her plans. He removed his hand from her breast, and, smiling slightly at her, grabbed his own member in his hand. He pumped once down the length, acting as if he was going to bring himself pleasure. His knuckles scraped across her thigh.

Her calm façade broke and she pushed him onto his back, grabbing his hands and pushing them above his head. He grinned up at her as she held him down, pressing her body against his. Their noses were almost touching, and her body shook with laughter above him.

"Felas, ma vhenan!" she said through her laughter. "You know it's hard for me. You missed your chance to take me slow."

His body tensed at the thought and he pushed his head upward, capturing her mouth with his own. She pressed her hips downward. His hard cock glided through her wet folds. She twined her fingers through his, pressing closer to him, her tongue brushing along his lips, teeth, and tongue.

Her hands released his slowly and she scratched her nails down his forearms, across his triceps, down his sides, and then back up slowly. Her nails left soft red paths. He moaned quietly, tangling his long fingers into her short, messy hair. The white tendrils curled around his hand, as soft as air.

"Solas," she suddenly murmured, voice full of . . . something. His eyes had been closed, but when he felt her lips leave his to talk, he opened his eyes to meet hers. They were intense, bright, filled to the brim with life. She seemed to struggle for words, and he watched her patiently, lust cooled for the moment. She lifted a hand and thoughtfully traced the sharp angle of his thin eyebrow, before finally saying, "If something happens to you, I would be . . ."

They had rarely talked about anything concerning probable future tragedies. They walked a dangerous path, and were at the forefront of a possibly fatal battle, and they seemed to naturally avoid topics about their dire course. Solas's mind was always on her mortality, but she had chosen not to bring up the topic of death to him, and he had respected her wishes. Her mouth did not form words of doubt and despair easily, but here she was, naked, vulnerable, her face full of fear. It was startling to him.

"What I mean is . . ." She shifted upwards slightly, propping herself up on her elbows so that she could look at his whole face. She struggled to say what she was thinking. Solas reached up and gently caressed her cheek in comfort.

"What I mean," she said, voice firmer, as if she was determined to make him understand. He believed he already did. She pronounced her next words deliberately and with emphasis on each syllable. "What I mean is I want to take you slow this time."

His heart clenched in his chest, and he was sure that she saw some of his feelings in his expression. He put his hands on both sides of her face, and gently drew her mouth down to his, telling her wordlessly, as best he could, that he understood.

They dreamt together of the forest.

They walked its grassy paths, and grazed fingers against trees younger in the remembering. It was a serenity few knew, to understand the long life of the wood, to feel its soul like a river always flowing.

The memories of the forest were slow and sweet and as gentle as time. And time _was_ gentle. It gave and took away softly, and it granted life and death in an easy momentum. It brought sorrow as swiftly, yet as simply as a caress.

Their fingers twined together in the shade of the canopies, even as they tangled together in sleep beneath the furs of their bedding. While they dreamed, neither thought of what could lay ahead in the real world. They were at peace, for a time, in happiness that does not last.


End file.
